Personal Diplomacy
by KianSpo
Summary: Spock gets seriously hurt due to a certain person's negligence. Several unexpected truths are revealed. They go from there. Mild K/S, more like headed there. Rated for swearing
1. Chapter 1

**Notes**: First ever fic for this fandom. Kink meme prompt fill:_There's soooo much hurt!jim around here, can we get some hurt!spock, s'il vous plait? _

**~Personal Diplomacy~**

Later Kirk would remember it in miniscule details, like watching a film in slow motion. He's having fun at the reception following a successful first contact mission. The natives are friendly if not exactly familiar yet. He flirts with the chieftain's daughter whose eyes are a lovely shade of green, all three of them. It's a little unnerving, but at the same time fascinating. To coin a phrase.

"Captain Kirk?"

He turns and there's the chieftain himself, followed by two bulky aliens. They were introduced as advisors, but Kirk can't help the feeling that they're really bodyguards. No reason they can't be both.

"Captain, it's time for one of your crew to undergo the turchani ritual. Which one of your warriors will honor us?"

Kirk tried once before to explain that they weren't really warriors, but the information obviously didn't sink in. He doesn't mind though. That'll be the problem for the diplomats who will pick up what the Enterprise has started.

"What kind of ritual?"

This could actually be fun, he thinks. Spock's suddenly at his side, a heated ruffle of air. Kirk can sense his disapproval, but he doesn't know the reason.

"The turchani ritual, captain," the chieftain repeats patiently. "Thus we can be certain of our mutual trust."

"Captain, I would advise against it," Spock says quietly. He's frowning, and for him it's a telling sign, but Kirk's having too good a time to pay attention.

"Oh, come on, Spock. This is a friendship thing, right?"

"Most certainly," the chieftain assures him.

"Captain—" Spock tries again, but Kirk just grins.

"You're afraid I'll make a fool of myself, aren't you?" he asks the Vulcan cheerily. True, he didn't read all the briefing materials, but that'll only make it more fun. On the other hand, it wouldn't be nice to screw up a perfectly conducted mission right in the end because he bows instead of kneeling or something. Spock's still frowning in concern. Kirk sighs. "Fine, Spock, if you're that worried, you go."

Spock looks at him and for a moment Kirk thinks he's actually caught off guard. Spock's eyes go wide slightly, and he pales a little, but Kirk doesn't notice.

"Very well, captain," Spock says finally in a grave tone. "If that is your wish, I will go."

Kirk claps him on the shoulder hard.

"Atta boy. And Spock? Don't screw this up."

He means it as a joke. Spock purses his lips and follows the chieftain's "advisors."

~***~

Kirk doesn't know. The chieftain's daughter keeps pouring him the local vodka-like stuff and he laughs at the way her three eyes seem to wink at each other. She doesn't seem to mind. He doesn't plan on going much further than flirting with her though. It's not her eyes obviously, but he's kinda with somebody. Well, he's not _with_ somebody exactly, but he wants to be very much, and he's simply not interested in any other person. Three eyes or three tits, it doesn't matter.

And speaking of that someone, what's taking so long? He doesn't know the exact time, but it feels like hours since Spock went off with those henchmen. Slowly, Kirk starts to get worried. Maybe he should have asked precisely what that particular ritual involved before he sent Spock off.

He looks around, trying to locate Uhura. He spots her at the other end of the hall, talking to several native men. Figures, Kirk thinks. Ever since she and Spock had broken up, she's been acting with more frivolity than anyone could have expected. Kirk mumbles a vague apology to the chieftain's daughter and stalks toward his communications officer.

"Excuse us a minute," he tells the men, grabbing Uhura's arm and pulling her aside.

"What could you possibly want now?" she hisses, jerking her arm free. "Sir."

"I wanted to ask you about the... the… turmacho... no, tarchumi…"

"Are you drunk?" She glares at him.

Kirk curses under his breath. Why is it always that when he needs some information from Uhura something's messing up his articulation?

"Spock went off to take part in some native ritual," he explains. "Something about solidifying our trust."

"The turchani ritual?" She stares at him in shock. "Captain, no! Why didn't you stop him?"

Kirk's instantly alert, the booze evaporating out of his system.

"Why should I have? What kind of ritual is it, Uhura?"

She doesn't answer immediately, but her eyes are wide as saucers and her lips are trembling. Dammit, Kirk thinks, feeling sick all at once. It wasn't just anything that could shake Uhura up.

"Captain Kirk."

He turns around and the chieftain is there. The first thing Kirk sees is the huge dagger with uneven edges in his hand. The chieftain is wiping it out with a piece of cloth, which looks like a ceremonial garment. And then he sees the emerald green smears on the pristine white fabric.

_No_

"What have you done to my first officer?" he asks hoarsely, too shocked to feel anger.

"Your first officer has honored us greatly," the chieftain smiles at him. The bastard's fucking smiling at him! Kirk's blood chills. "He has proven that the Federation is worthy of our friendship. Of course, the ritual wasn't necessary, but we are grateful that you decided to participate. You are truly a graced leader, captain. I salute you."

Uhura gasps, staring at the knife and the cloth, and digs her nails in his arm. It's all Kirk can do to stare at the grinning alien as the terrifying words sink in.

Spock's been hurt badly. Possibly killed. On his orders.

And it wasn't necessary.

~***~

Kirk rushes through the crowded hall, possibly knocking over people as he passes, Uhura at his heels, knocking those he didn't reach. The rest of the Enterprise party moves swiftly toward them, but Kirk doesn't notice.

His heart's pounding somewhere in his throat, his body's pulled together so tightly that it seems to cut through the air, and he can't breathe. He can't fucking breathe.

They rush into the ritual chamber, and Kirk's vision goes white. Which is kinda strange because everything around him is green and wet, and the smell of blood is overwhelming.

Spock's lying on his back on a marble table. He's naked, but it's not immediately apparent, so thickly he's covered in his own blood. His arms and legs are stretched but not secured. He was probably just held down, Kirk thinks, his Vulcan strength useless against their hosts. The fragments of bones are protruding through the alabaster skin on Spock's wrists and his left hip. There are no nails on his fingers and toes, just raw meat on the ends of those delicate fingers.

Uhura clutches her hand to her mouth, shuddering. The sound prompts Kirk to action. He's screwed and he knows it, but now is not the time to take guilt trips. Spock's still alive. Kirk sees his chest rising and falling slowly, unsteadily, but not stopping. Saving him is the top priority. The rest can wait or go to hell.

"Nobody touch him!" Kirk snaps, as one of the security lieutenants steps closer. "There might be internal injuries," he croaks, coming closer himself. "We don't want to hurt him further."

He snaps open his communicator, looking around wildly. He would never forget this room or this scene.

Spock. Broken.

"Enterprise here," Sulu's disembodied voice answers the hail. "Is there a problem, captain?"

"Sulu, relay our coordinates to the transporter room. Tell Scotty we'll need a transport directly to sickbay. Mr. Spock's severely injured, his life is in danger. Alert McCoy, I need a med team to stand by with all they've got." His voice breaks there at the end, just a little.

"Understood, sir," Sulu's tone is grim. "Relaying coordinates."

They wait. It'll take about a minute for Sulu's call to reach the transporter room and for Scotty to get a lock. Kirk curses every second of the delay, but he's helpless to fix it. he reaches with his hand instinctively to touch Spock, only to snatch it back at the last moment.

"How can anyone do this?" Kirk whispers weakly. "How can anyone..."

"The ritual is supposed to test your pain endurance," Uhura says behind him, sounding utterly dead. "The subject is not restrained. They... they hurt him until he screams or tries to defend himself."

"What the hell does it have to do with trust?" Kirk barks angrily, staring at Spock's face. The Vulcan's chiseled features are a bloody mess, his nose and jaw are definitely broken, eyes puffed shut, lips skinned. And his ears... Holy Mary Mother of God, is that a _burn_?

"The subject must trust that they will not inflict more pain on him than he can endure," Uhura says brokenly.

"And of course Spock didn't make a sound until he passed out," Kirk says. "He knew what they were up to. God, Spock, _why didn't you tell me_?"

His desperate shout of a wounded animal is swallowed by the transporter effect.

~***~

"Holy shit," McCoy cusses as soon as the transport is complete. "Move aside! Everyone not working here get out of here NOW!"

Kirk doesn't realize he's included in that everyone until he feels a hand on his shoulder, tugging him toward the doors. He allows to be moved several meters back, but then plants his feet to the carpet resolutely.

"I'll stay. You go."

Whoever's behind him, most likely still Uhura, hesitates for a moment and then obeys. He hears the doors swish closed, but he only has eyes for what's happening in front of him.

There are so many medics around Spock that the Vulcan's almost completely shielded from Kirk's view. Kirk stands there motionless, listening to sharp orders and hisses of hypos. He winces when they move Spock to a stretcher, and Bones yells as if he's in pain himself.

"One at a time — he's got internal bleeding!"

Kirk has no idea what's going on, he just stares forward as if in some kind of trance. His mind wanders away from the surreal picture, but all he sees is Spock.

_Spock, calm and stoic, making his report on the bridge. Spock, dodging enemy fire. Spock's eyebrow crawling up as he takes a verbal shot at McCoy. Spock, utterly startled and confused, at his own surprise birthday party. Spock, relaxed and contented, looking at Kirk calmly over a chessboard. Spock, defending him in front of an inquiry board. Spock, smiling at him, the way only Spock can. Spock, blushing and staring at his own feet, as he tells Kirk he considers him a friend. _

"Jim."

Kirk opens his eyes. He didn't know he closed them until McCoy shakes him out of it.

"How is he?" Kirk asks immediately.

"How do you think?" McCoy grumbles. "Whatever shit he's been up to, it nearly did him in. You saw him. There's severe internal damage. I have to operate."

"Will he live?"

Bones eyes him grimly.

"I don't know, Jim. He lost more blood than he could afford. He's too weak for surgery, and yet I don't see how he can pull through without immediate intervention."

"You're the doctor, Bones," Kirk says barely above whisper, clutching McCoy's arm tightly. "Do what you have to. Just save him."

McCoy gives him another grim look and leaves.

James Tiberius Kirk realizes that he's never been so frightened in his life.

~***~

He was wearing the hole in the damned carpet. So long. Why is it taking so fucking long? Kirk stares at the surgical unit, but he can't see a damn thing, the windows are opaqued. They've been in there for hours. He bites his lip, draws blood. Great, more blood for Bones' sickbay as if he doesn't have enough on his hands already. _Just don't die on me, Spock. Please don't die on me._

"Sir?" A nurse approached him while he wasn't looking and is now staring at him with concern. He cringes at her expression. Doesn't she know he's the one responsible for what happened to Spock? Doesn't she know it's because of him his first officer is dying?

"Yes, nurse, what is it?" he snaps rudely. Maybe if he lets his temper out on her unchecked, she'll get the idea that he's a terrible person and will stay away. People ought to stay away from him. He doesn't deserve company.

The nurse continues to look at him with this fucking _sympathetic_ expression as if he's the best thing that ever happened to this ship. As if he deserves it.

"Sir. Doctor McCoy asked me to check on you and then—"

"What the hell?" He yells, outraged. "Bones asked you to check on _me_? What the fuck is he thinking? Spock's his top priority, he's the one dying, not I!"

"Sir," the nurse doesn't flinch away, she's obviously too well trained for that. "The surgery is likely to last another five hours at least. I'm _ordered_ to make you get some rest, captain. There's nothing you can do here."

He stares at her, ready to bite her head off, when his anger suddenly fades. She's right, he thinks. I can't do a damn thing here. I've done enough already. Without a word, he turns on his heel abruptly and walks out.

He doesn't know where he's headed until he enters the transporter deck. Figures. Somebody's got to pay for what happened, and since he can't beat himself to a pulp, he's gonna have a talk with those fuckers on the planet. He needs to clear up a few things with them. Such as, _YOU FUCKING DON'T ASSAULT A VULCAN UNTIL HE CRIES OUT BECAUSE HE NEVER WILL!_ Maybe if he pisses them off, if he crosses some cultural taboo, which he itches to do right now, they'll beat him up for him.

Scotty's still in the transporter room, God only knows what he's doing here. He looks up, surprised.

"Captain! Where d'ye think ye're goin'?"

"To the surface," Kirk drops in what he hopes is his command voice, brooking no argument. "Beam me down, Scotty."

"Ack, no," the Scotsman shakes his head determinedly. "Ye look like shit, sir. And I dinna like yer expression, not one wee bit. Ye're not goin' there."

Kirk looks up, his eyes aflame.

"I'm giving you a direct order, Mr. Scott. Beam me down."

"Belay that order!"

The voice comes from the door, and they both spin around to see Uhura. She's panting as if she's just run a marathon, and her hand's shaking as she points it at Kirk.

"You can't go," she blurts out, not even trying to catch her breath. "I've just talked to the chieftain."

"Who the hell authorized you to do that?" Kirk snaps angrily.

She sends him her best glare and straightens up. He knows he's about to get hit.

"I'm the senior officer of the mission," she snaps. "With Commander Spock and you both unavailable, it gives me seniority and the right to make contact, _captain_. If you read regulations, even once—"

"Yes, yes, yes, cut the crap! What the fuck did you call him for?"

"A report for Starfleet. And in case you haven't noticed, our mission isn't over yet. I needed to find out if we broke any rules, if we—"

"If _we_ broke any rules?" he yells, incensed. "Are you out of your mind? They nearly killed Spock, and you think _we_ broke some fucking rule of theirs?"

"They had the right to hurt him!" She's yelling now, too, eyes ablaze. "Because you agreed to the ritual! You sent him there, _captain_! And that's why you can't beam down, you can't protest anything! They were within their rights!"

He breathes heavily and doesn't respond.

"Now really, lass, that's a bit harsh," Scotty quips from behind the console. "Surely the captain dinna—"

"I did," Kirk whispers. "I did order him there. I didn't read the briefing stuff, not all of it. I didn't know."

He looks up, seeking redemption. Scotty hums softly and averts his eyes. Uhura still glares at him, but she's much calmer now.

"I don't get it," she says, shaking her head in frustration. "Why didn't you read what you were supposed to? Why don't you ever do? What, did you have a nasty experience with a book as a child or something? Did a PADD bite your hand? We've got a whole department preparing these memos for you — why on earth wouldn't you _read_?"

He looks at her steadily, and there's only one answer he can give her.

"Because I have Spock for it." _Because it's more time alone with him this way._

"Well," she purses her lips and nods in frustrated understanding. "Let's see for how long."

~***~

He doesn't remember much of his way back to sickbay. He throws one glance at the still occupied surgical unit and stalks into Bones' office. He sinks into the guest chair, lays his arms on the table and drops his head on them. He doesn't want to think, but it's sort of beyond him now.

Why the hell did Spock go? Why? So Kirk wasn't paying attention during the briefing, so what? Since when is it anything new? Spock had all the information, of course. _Why the hell did he go?_

This Vulcan sure has a problem with the self-preservation instinct. Kirk noticed it many times before, but this is simply too much. As if it wasn't enough that Spock risked his life on almost every away mission they went to. Usually to pull his captain out of trouble, but not always, Kirk thinks. Not always.

There was that idiotic stunt when Spock rushed into a house on fire to save the child he alone heard crying. Third degree burns and not even a word. Or that time when he mind-melded with a living rock of all things and nearly got his brains fried. One other time when he drank the ceremonial drink that was deadly for humans, and only 'slightly' poisonous for Vulcans — slightly meaning that he managed to pull through eventually, after puking only half of his guts out. Spock was incorrigible. Spock was...

"Jim!"

He jumps in his chair, realizing he's fallen asleep somehow. Bones is standing at his side, still in his medical coveralls, shaking him. Bones looks like hell.

"I thought I ordered you to rest," Bones grumbles, letting go and moving to collapse in his own chair.

"Bones?" It's all he can manage.

McCoy looks in his face and sighs.

"He'll make it, Jim. He was damn lucky. If you brought him in five minutes later, there wouldn't be anything I could have done. As it is, he'll make a full recovery, but it'll take a few days, a week maybe. And then..."

He doesn't hear the rest of it. He's so relieved, he feels freaking high. The room spins around him, and he feels as if he's drawing in extra air.

"Thank you, Bones," he tells the doctor, dizzy with elation. "Thank you."

"He's not out of the woods yet," McCoy shakes his head. "Jim. I can't begin to tell you how badly he was hurt. Twelve broken bones, they are now mending. Lacerations all over. Burns. Congestion in the left lung. I pulled him out of two cardiac arrests on the table."

"Jesus..." Kirk whispers.

"They treated him like an animal," McCoy nearly spits. For the first time, Kirk realizes he's angry. The surgeon's hands are shaking, and he clenches them into fists. "You saw his hands. I don't think he's gonna be playing that lyre of his any time soon. I had to regenerate 40% of skin tissue, including his lips. They bobbed one of his ears, did you know that? I reattached it, but it's gonna hurt like hell."

"Bones," Kirk starts, but doesn't know how to continue. He wants to stop the horrific recount, but at the same time he can't help thinking that it's the least he can do for Spock — listen.

"That's not all," McCoy stares at him grimly. "I set his hip back together, and the bone is knit. But his rectum is in tatters. I mended what I could, but it'll be a while before he can sit or bend. And it's liquid diet for at least a month."

All blood has gone from Kirk's face as he whispers in utmost horror, "They raped him?"

_The motherfuckers won't know what hit them.__  
_  
"I almost wish they did," McCoy drops heavily. "Physically, rape's nothing compared to this, Jim. Forced penetration is no picnic, but no dick can do this kind of damage. Most likely they shoved in the first heavy long object that came in handy, a dagger haft or something. It tore him up from the inside, and it was most likely when he blacked out. The pain must have been unbearable. If you were on that table, you'd die from the shock of it alone."

"Oh Jesus Christ," Kirk whimpers, dizzy and nauseous. "Oh Jesus... God, Spock. I'm so sorry, Bones, I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault," McCoy shrugs.

"Yes, it is," Kirk lift his chin up and suddenly he can't contain it any longer. Tears streaming down, lips trembling, he spills out the whole tale, stumbling over words, getting them right hastily. He spares himself nothing, he dives in guilt and it burns him like acid.

"And I told him... I told him not to screw this up," he finishes almost inaudibly.

McCoy is silent. At moments like this, he's scarily professional, his demeanor so stoic, he almost looks Vulcan.

"Jim," his voice is even. "Spock knew what the ritual included, didn't he? He went anyway."

"I ordered him to, Bones! Haven't you been listening? I fucking ordered him to!"

"Spock never had a problem disobeying your orders before when you got it wrong," Bones points out.

"You don't understand," Kirk shakes his head. "If he corrected me in the presence of the natives or refused to obey me in front of that chieftain bastard, the whole mission would have been screwed. He knew that. If only I listened..."

"Enough, Jim!" McCoy snapped, slamming his fist into his desk hard. "Your wallowing in self-pity won't help anyone. Yes, you screwed up big time. Pull yourself together and learn from your mistakes. Spock's alive and his health will be restored in time, back to normal, though he'll likely go through hell before it happens. You were damn lucky, both of you. I don't think you'd be so lucky next time, so goddamn talk to each other and set this thing straight!"

"What thing?"

"Don't pull that shit on me, Jim," McCoy barks, annoyed beyond himself. "This green-blooded computerized son-of-a-bitch needs to learn his life is fucking worth something! I don't know about you, but I don't give a shit if the Federation signs a treaty with these people or not. Spock's life is not a fucking currency to pay for it!"

"I know."

"Well, then tell him that! He risks his life over nothing more times than not. He'll weep over every redshirt we lost, in his Vulcan way of course, but when it comes to his own life, he thinks he's the most expendable officer in the whole damned Starfleet!"

"You're saying he's got a death wish?"

"No, Jim. I'm saying Spock thinks that his life isn't worth shit. He thinks that if he dies no one will shed a tear. And your sending him off to take as much pain as he can endure without batting and eyelash doesn't help matters one bit."

Kirk is floored. "How on earth could he think _that_?"

"Jesus, Jim," McCoy looks at him incredulously. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but people don't exactly spring up in front of him and swear their undying love."

"Yeah, well. Some of us don't want to get choked to death again."

"I never took you for a coward. Spock thinks half the crew hates him, and your cocky bastard attitude doesn't help."

"I just... I don't know how to act around him, Bones," Kirk confesses helplessly. "You don't have to tell me how cool he is, but he's intimidating as hell, too. People like him, they'll wage fucking war for him, but they don't know how to show it. Dammit, Bones, it's not like you're any different! You're aggravating him any chance you've got, and I know for a fact that you like him."

"Yeah, well, he gets under my skin with his damned logic, I can't help it," McCoy looks away for a moment. "That's what I'm talking about, Jim. That damned hobgoblin is stubborn as hell, but if he doesn't know we care for him, we're all to blame. His own people scorn him, they've been telling him he's good for nothing only since he was born – just because he's half-human. Starfleet as good as tells him he's good for nothing when they take a loudmouthed cadet who mutinied against him and promote him to captain and Spock's supposed to just take that. How would you feel in his place?"

"Like shit," Kirk nods slowly, as the words sink in.

It all starts to make so much sense now. Spock's total inability to accept a compliment. His wariness of anyone who claims they like him. He doesn't trust people, but who on earth can blame him? He's been kicked and punched all his life. Kirk himself told him he wanted his friendship and then sent him off to be tortured without a split second of hesitation. Spock's logic and his emotions must have been for once in complete agreement, telling him he was neither wanted nor needed. Oh shit.

"Then there's Uhura," McCoy continues. "Who claimed she loved him and then broke up with him."

"How'd you know _she_ broke up with him?" Kirk asks automatically.

McCoy fixes him with a heavy gaze. "I'm a doctor, Jim. People talk to me."

"Why did they break up?"

"Uhura's a perceptive creature, Jim," McCoy sighs. "She knows Spock's like a homeless puppy — will love anyone who picks him up. She's a proud woman, that one. She didn't want his gratitude. She wanted him to love her, for herself, not because she'd been kind to him. Looks like he couldn't do it."

"So they split," Kirk shakes his head. "Fuck her. Couldn't she just—?"

"No one wants to be second best, Jim."

Kirk stares at him with a sudden pang of suspicion.

"How'd you figure so much about Spock, Bones? You two always argue. I can't believe he traded confessions with you."

McCoy blushes slightly and looks at his clasped hands.

"He seeks me out sometimes," he says finally.

Kirk can't process his amazement. The image simply doesn't _want_ to fit in his mind.

"_To talk_?"

"No," McCoy sighs. "At least, not on the surface. Spock comes here several times a week, under one pretense or another. Status reports, unscheduled inspections, or some other lame excuse. He knows he can't show up without me starting a shouting match with him."

"Then why does he come?"

McCoy looks at him, almost pityingly.

"Because even my yelling at him is preferable to being alone, Jim."

Kirk is speechless. McCoy just stares at him.

"Jim, I don't think you have any idea of how lonely this Vulcan bastard really is."

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Reviews/criticism welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

Note: I don't know what's wrong with my account, but I can't access the reviews online and can't answer to them. But I do get them over email, so to everyone who encouraged me -- THANK YOU! I'm happy if you liked the story, and I hope the conclusion doesn't disappoint you. Heh.

* * *

~***~

Kirk creeps into the intensive care unit warily. Bones told him Spock would be out in that Vulcan healing trance of his, but Kirk needs to see him nonetheless. It doesn't matter that Spock can't talk. He's breathing, and that sound will be enough to calm Kirk's burning nerves. He needs a physical, tangible proof of Spock's continuous existence.

Spock's stretched on the biobed, covered from head to toe with a thermal blanket. It's warm in here, and Kirk realizes that Bones must have ordered the temperature up for Spock's comfort.

Spock looks better. Kirk assumes it's better anyway. He's been cleaned up, his face doesn't look as ghostly white anymore and the broken bones are knit. His eyes are still swollen shut, but compared to the last time Kirk saw him, it's almost nothing. Spock's arms lay atop the cover, hands bandaged heavily. He looks thinner somehow. Smaller.

Vulnerable.

Kirk never thought he'd ever use this word to describe Spock. He also never thought he'd have this violent urge to scoop the redoubtable Vulcan into his arms, hold him steady and never let go. Spock was always his shield, someone who protected him, reliable as a rock. Spock was never weak. Never the one who needed help. Spock shrugged injuries off like dirty clothes. Spock always volunteered for the toughest assignments. He had no regard for his health, or his life it would seem. Kirk finally understands why.

He closes in on the bed slowly, eyes glued to Spock's face. So beautiful. Pale skin, devilishly dark features. A fallen angel. Kicked out from heaven for... what exactly? Kirk shakes his head softly, unable to look away. _What did you ever do, Spock, to have them ban you? How could they cast you out? So beautiful._ Kirk wishes he could be more of his badass cocky self right now, but he can't. Spock's broken beauty slices right through him, humbling him. Hurting him.

He stares at Spock in silence, and it _hurts_.

_On my watch. He was hurt on my watch. On my orders. Oh, Spock, how can I ever ask you to forgive me?_

Kirk places his hands on the edge of the bed carefully, inches from Spock's exposed arm. Spock's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, even though it's slow and probably weaker than usual. Kirk blesses Bones silently for the hundredth time. They were both lucky, Bones said. Kirk knows better. Their luck has a name, and it's Leonard H. McCoy, M.D., his best friend.

_Thank God for Bones. Thank God._

He stares at Spock thinking about how much of an idiot he's been. Most of the time Spock was so unapproachable, so closed, so... autonomous. There was something in the way he carried himself that intimidated people, and most of them couldn't help thinking that he meant it. Kirk sighs. Spock has simply been defending himself. With his peers and his own people denying him any measure of respect, he could do little but hold on to that impenetrable stoic barrier. Spock is a proud being, deny it as he might, and his pride has been taking so much abuse that it's a miracle he managed to save any of it.

Kirk can't blame him for trying. He only wishes he'd seen it earlier.

He's been circling around Spock for a year, tentatively trying to coax him into friendship, taking offense in Spock's would-be unresponsiveness. Shared meals and games of chess, long discussions on the observation deck, work out sessions in the gym.

They didn't do it too often, any of it. Kirk wanted Spock to open up so much that the Vulcan's continuous resilience frustrated him no end. It took him a while to regain his footing. And while he was licking his own hurt ego, disappointed that Spock didn't fall for him instantly like a ton of bricks, Spock longed for company, for some human interaction. Longed for it so much that even Bones' insults started to seem like a good option, apparently.

There has never been a moment in James Kirk's life when he loathed himself more than he does at this very moment.

He places his fingers gingerly on the pliant skin of Spock's forearm. It's cool. Spock's body temperature is usually several degrees higher than that of a human, but now it's not. Massive blood loss. His body's conserving energy. Hence the thermal blanket, Kirk thinks.

He rubs the soft skin gently. So gently, in fact, he barely touches the surface. No pressure. Unable to restrain himself, he lifts his other hand and reaches to stroke Spock's hair tenderly, careful not to disturb him. He leans over, his lips merely an inch from Spock's uninjured ear.

"Please, come back to me," he whispers. "I'll right every wrong. I promise, Spock. Give me one more chance. You won't ever have to be alone. Please come back. I need you."

Kirk straightens up, still gazing at Spock's face dreamily. It hurts to look at him, for so many reasons, and yet he can't tear his eyes away. He knows he's no longer alone in the room and glances over his shoulder.

McCoy is standing in the doorway, with an uncharacteristic lack of expression on his face. He, too, is gazing at Spock. His lips are a straight stubborn line, his jaw is tightened painfully.

"Bones?" Kirk asks, uncertain.

McCoy swallows hard and clears his throat.

"Let's go, Jim. He'll be out for the next twenty hours at least. I'll call you if anything happens, but for now, let's give him some room."

Kirk doesn't protest. He glances once more at Spock's prone form and his heart clenches unpleasantly. He looks away with an effort and follows Bones out.

They walk in silence along the empty corridors. It's late in the Gamma shift, and only those on duty are awake at their various stations. Kirk debates silently checking in with the bridge, but McCoy will likely have his balls if he does.

"You love him," McCoy says suddenly.

Kirk starts, almost jumping. He spares a wary glance at his friend, but Bones is looking straight ahead, his expression as determined as Kirk has ever seen on him. The question, which isn't really a question, catches him off guard. He's not called the boldest captain in Starfleet for no reason though. He knows that the best defense is offense.

"So do you," he replies.

To his surprise, McCoy doesn't even flinch.

"I do, but it's different," he says calmly. "I love him in the same way I love you, Jim. Like a stupid little brother I never had."

Kirk looks at him, not knowing how to react. Bones is usually grumpy and sassy, and he doesn't talk about his feelings unless they are something along the lines of annoyance, irritation or exasperation. Kirk never heard Bones talk so seriously or say such words to him. Kirk can count the people who ever told him they loved him with the fingers on one hand. He'd actually have fingers to spare. He's not used to this. He doesn't know how to react, so he goes for lightening the mood.

"Why, Bones, that's so sweet of you, I didn't know you cared."

The next thing he knows, he's slammed into the nearest bulkhead so forcefully that his head howls and Bones' elbow is pressed against his throat. Kirk's shocked into immobility.

"I've had it with you," McCoy hisses in his face and his eyes are scary. "I don't care if you think I'm sweet, old, sentimental, or whatever. I've just spent eight longest hours of my life trying to save someone who was dying because I never told him how I feel. D'you know what I've learned from the experience? Huh? Life's too fucking short to act coy, Jim. Life's too fucking short to play macho or to fondle your goddamned pride. Life only gives you one chance to tell someone you love them, and if you don't use it, the next moment they may be gone, and you and your male ego can live happily ever after. So yeah," he presses Kirk's throat harder, "you can call me sweet or fuzzy or whatever idiotic name you come up with next, you imbecile! But if you die tomorrow, I'd at least know that you knew what you were to me, that I told you. And I don't fucking care if it makes me sound like a goddamned Hallmark card!"

With that, he releases a very shaken Kirk from his grip and stalks away.

"Wait," Kirk calls after him, panting. "Wait, Bones, please!"

McCoy stops and turns to look at him, with an air of impatient exasperation.

"What?"

Kirk comes closer, watching his face warily.

"I just wanted... I love you, too, Bones."

McCoy stares at him for a moment longer and then suddenly snorts.

"Well, that's a start. It didn't hurt too much, Jim, did it?"

Kirk can't help but grin. He's blushing, he's confused and embarrassed, but he also feels better than he had in a long time. He reaches for the other man, and McCoy pulls him firmly into a bear hug.

"How can you save planets, Jim, and still be such a baby?" Bones mutters, holding him.

Kirk smirks, clapping his back. "Just lucky I guess."

McCoy lets go of him with another snort, and they resume their walk.

"What did you mean before," Kirk starts tentatively, "when you said I... that what I felt for Spock was different?"

McCoy gives him a cursory glance and shakes his head.

"You really need me to spell it out for you?" He sighs. "Jim, I love Spock as in, _Let's go have a beer, ogle the chicks and watch baseball_. That is, if Vulcans did any of those things, but you get the picture. You love Spock as in, _Make love to me by the fireplace and never mind if the fire goes out, I'll keep you warm through the night_. You really needed to hear _that_ from me?"

Very red in the face, Kirk shoves an elbow into McCoy's ribs.

"Not in so many words."

They stop at the door to Kirk's quarters.

"I'm serious, Jim," McCoy says quietly. "Tell him. That was a close call, but the next time it might be worse."

"I know, Bones," Kirk nods grimly. "I just hope he doesn't hate me."

McCoy smirks tiredly.

"Something tells me you might be in for a surprise, Jim. Get some rest."

"Bones, if there's any news—"

"I'll let you know immediately. Now shoo."

Kirk grins at him wearily and walks through the doors.

~***~

His sleep is fitful, and he wakes up with a feeling he's been dragged over the coals literally. He checks with sickbay before he gets out of bed, but the report isn't inspiring. It's not bad, though, either. Just _no change_. Kirk thinks it's probably good, all things considered.

He heads for the bridge and is greeted by some rather gloomy nods upon arrival. He goes straight to Uhura's station.

"Morning, lieutenant," he says neutrally. "Any word from Starfleet?"

"Yes," she gives him a look which he can't immediately read. "They said the resolution of the situation is at captain's discretion. They did remind us though that Starfleet needs a Starbase here quite badly."

Kirk notes this 'us' with a good measure of relief. She's probably still blaming him, and it's only fair as he blames himself, too, but at least she doesn't tell him he's on his own.

"Lieutenant, I need you to sit down with our cultural experts and reexamine everything we have on these people," he says. "Rituals are rituals, but I don't believe they inflict so much violence upon each other on a regular basis, or they'd all died out by now. If they do, by the way, we need to know it, too."

She nods thoughtfully. "What should I look for?"

"See if you can find anything that would allow us to bring them up on charges of excessive use of force or an unprovoked assault of a Starfleet officer."

She stares at him incredulously. "You want to press charges against them?"

Kirk frowns, staring right back.

"No, lieutenant," he snaps sharply. "What I really want is to take down a security detail and explain to those bastards _physically_ that they don't get to lay a finger on a member of this crew without having their balls handed to them on a platter. I want to find those two bastards who did this to Spock and fucking _murder_ them with my own hands, and before that, I want to make them suffer." He paused, collecting himself. "But Starfleet was kind enough to remind us that we need a Starbase and therefore a stable treaty. So if at all possible, yes, I want to at least bring them up on charges."

Uhura's mouth is wide open as she gapes at him. Kirk looks up to realize that so does every other person on the bridge. Kirk sighs, realizing that his voice must have been carrying.

"Back to work, people," he tells them with feigned strictness. "The show's over."

A chorus of 'Aye, sir' courses through the bridge, as his officers turn back to their stations. Sulu doesn't though.

"Just one thing, captain," he says boldly, looking around at his colleagues. "If you do go down to the planet, I'm authorized on behalf of the bridge crew to say that you won't need a security detail. You've got enough volunteers right here."

"Ve'll make mincemeat of zem, sir," Chekov interjects, looking belligerent. "For vhat zey did to Meester Spock."

Kirk blinks. The whole bridge is staring at him again and for once, nobody's making fun of Chekov's English.

"I see," Kirk says slowly. "I appreciate the sentiment, as I'm sure does Mr. Spock."_ I wish he could see it, though._ "But for now, let's concentrate on the legal means, okay? Contrary to everyone's belief, Starfleet's not the Mob."

"Yes, sir," Sulu grins slightly. "But the offer stands."

"I'll bear that in mind," Kirk tells him. "Carry on. Well, lieutenant," he looks at Uhura again. "If you don't hurry, I'm gonna have a mutiny on my hands."

"Indeed, captain," she says and suddenly winks at him. "I'll see what I can do."

~***~

His shift unfolds slowly from then on. Kirk's busy checking the data Starfleet sent them and finally reading the briefing memos without skipping all the 'boring cultural shit.' He remembers asking Spock once what sense it could possibly make to study in-depth the culture of some planet they were only going to visit once and never come back. He remembers Spock's words verbatim.

_"Of all the millions of habitable planets in the galaxy, only two percent are cradles to sentient life. It does not matter if this life is drastically different from what is familiar to us, if the civilizations we encounter will never evolve as ours have or never reach for the stars. They deserve our respect simply because they exist."_

Back then Kirk thought that this was probably the most romantic thing Spock had ever said — so much internal fire he could sense behind the words. Being himself, of course, he couldn't help poking the anthill.

_"But what if this life is so different from ours that it's actually antagonistic?"_

Spock fixed him with a leveled gaze, which was full of emotion, but Kirk couldn't identify it.

_"All life is precious, Jim. You should learn not to limit your compassion with what looks like you or appeals to you."_

Kirk knew somehow he wasn't being lectured. Maybe because Spock used his first name without being prompted. Though in retrospect, he thinks it was more subtle even than that. There was a soft admonish in Spock's voice, and it sounded strangely personal, almost regretful. Wistful. Hurt?

He doesn't know. He only wishes Spock wouldn't forget that all life is precious when it comes down to his own.

Bones loses his cool, which quite frankly isn't such a rare occurrence, when Kirk calls sickbay for the third time in two hours.

"A trance is a trance, Jim. I'll let you know when he's out of it!"

Right. Keep your shirt on, JT. There'll be no easy way out of this, not this time.

He's a little surprised with Uhura. She obviously still cares for Spock very much. Kirk wasn't ready for the easy way in which she seems to have forgiven him. He wishes he could forgive himself so easily. He steals glances at her whenever she's around, checking with her station while her team has a break. He can't help wondering. She's almost friendly to him. Where's the catch?

She approaches him at the end of his shift, looking thoughtful and concerned.

"There's no solid legal basis in the cultural database for our charges so far, captain. But," she raises a hand, forestalling his protest, "we think there's a loophole in the treaty."

"You're kidding me," Kirk stares at her incredulously. "In that stupid treaty we just signed?"

"And they signed, too, captain," she nods and actually grins at him. "That's the important thing. We're looking into it right now."

Kirk beams at her. "Good work, Uhura! Let me know as soon as you have something."

"Aye, sir," she replies, with a good-natured flippancy and retreats to her station.

Kirk's just about to make some kind of witty after-comment, when the intercom whistles. It's Bones, and Kirk already knows what he'll tell him.

Spock's coming around.

~***~

Spock was moved from intensive care into a private room at some point during the night. He's now resting, McCoy explains to a rather haggard looking Kirk.

"He doesn't talk much and I don't like how he sounds when he does," McCoy says grimly. "Try not to overload him. I know you're itching to do a mea culpa and you should, just remember. Spock's health is our top priority now, not your guilty conscience."

"I understand," Kirk nods. "Please, Bones, can I see him now?"

Instead of answering, McCoy releases the lock on his office door and points Kirk in the direction of the recovery ward. Kirk's knees go steadily weaker as he approaches it, and he takes a moment to pull himself together before entering. His hand is trembling slightly as he reaches for the lock, and he curses himself under his breath.

Really. He wasn't so lightheaded with dread when he faced that bastard Nero. Or when he was falsely accused of murdering one of his crewmembers and had to go through a court-martial. Or when he fought off the Klingons. He was never so jittery when dealing with any of his 'romantic interests,' not even when he was five.

But this isn't just anyone. This is Spock, and Kirk's afraid to fuck it up so much, he can barely see straight. Then Bones' words come back to him as an echo, and he finally manages to tame his butterflies and snakes. Spock's health should come first. His own mixed up feelings can wait.

Decidedly, he activates the sensor and strides in.

Spock's lying on the bed, his head an upper body elevated slightly. He's still covered with a thermal blanket, but he looks much better. The bandages are gone. Some color has returned to his face. His eyes are no longer swollen, but look rather normal again. Someone's obviously cleaned him up while he was in the trance for his hair is shiny, even if slightly tousled, and no longer clotted with his own blood. He looks up at the sound of the opening door, and locks gazes with Kirk.

_Oh dear._

Kirk smiles rather tentatively, moving slowly toward the bed.

"Hi, Spock."

The Vulcan inclines his head.

"Captain."

Immediately Kirk knows what McCoy meant. Spock sounds hollow. Indifferent. He's always reserved, but usually his voice reverberates with hidden power. He holds it in check, but it's there, coloring his words even when his tone would not admit any inflections. Now it's gone. Spock sounds as broken as he looked on that ritual table.

"How are you feeling?" Kirk asks, stopping at the side of the bed.

Spock frowns slightly.

"I am functional. I do not understand why Doctor McCoy insists on keeping me here. I'm ready to resume my duties."

"Whoa," Kirk holds up a hand. "Who said anything about duties?"

Spock looks at him as if he's being deliberately slow.

"You are here," Spock says. "Obviously, I am needed to perform some task."

"Spock..." Kirk's mouth goes dry. "Spock, how could you even..." He clears his throat. "Spock, I'm here as a friend. Did you really think I would come here to drag you to your post while you're barely breathing?"

Spock surveys him coolly.

"You are in error. I am experiencing no respiratory difficulty."

Kirk's temper flares.

"That's not what I meant! Dammit, Spock. What kind of callous bastard do you think I am?"

"You are a starship captain. It is logical for you to expect your officers to perform their duties."

"Not when they are recovering from a major trauma. Jesus, Spock! We're the Orion Syndicate. We're a fucking democracy — you have rights!"

Spock looks at him calmly and speaks in an even, dead voice.

"My rights are subject to the requirements of the service."

"Not right now," Kirk says with grave conviction. "Not right now."

Spock stares at him for another moment and then looks away.

Kirk has never felt so helpless in his life. This new Spock that he sees, that he now knows has been there all along, is so drastically different from the Spock Kirk's used to seeing, from that confident, even arrogant Vulcan who marooned him on Delta Vega that he's simply at a loss of what to do. He's so different that Kirk doesn't have the first clue of how to reach him. But he's not going to back down, oh no. It's about time Spock learned his true value.

"Spock, listen to me. Spock."

The Vulcan doesn't react, and Kirk reaches unthinkingly to lift his chin up with his fingers. Spock flinches, badly, probably the result of the post-traumatic stress. Kirk's first impulse is to let go, but then he changes his mind. No more running for either of them. Spock will look at him, whether he wants it or not.

"Spock." Kirk's fingers press a little harder, and the Vulcan finally relents, looking up at him. The soft brown of his eyes has receded; it's anguished black now all over. Instinctively, Kirk's fingers slide higher to gently cup Spock's cheek, relieved to find the familiar warmth there. And oh dear God, Spock's leaning into the touch just a little, his eyes closing briefly, a sigh barely above exhale escaping his lips.

Cold sweat breaks out on Kirk's spine, as he realizes that his ever stoic, ever self-sufficient Vulcan is touch-starved and can't help it. Kirk's heart clenches painfully, and it's all he can do not to wrap his arms around Spock on the spot. As if the thought triggers something, Spock's eyes snap open and he jerks back slightly, breaking contact.

"Forgive me, Captain." He's blushing. Kirk's head begins to spin. "My control appears not to have been... fully reestablished."

Maybe it's not a bad thing, Kirk thinks. Maybe he'll listen to me now, while his shields are down. As long as Kirk himself can pull it together, which is like the hardest thing he ever had to do. He's never been a touchy-feely type, but something about Spock nullifies his defenses. Kirk might be a cocky bastard, but he does have a heart. And Spock's breaking it now, as surely as if he'd physically extracted it from Kirk's chest. He's freaking good at it, too.

"Spock, about what happened on the planet."

Spock's jaw line tightens, the look in his eyes becomes more distant.

"Doctor McCoy told me the treaty remains in effect. I trust I did not perform... inadequately."

"Inadequately?" Kirk repeats in horror. "Spock, you—"

"Captain." Spock looks down again, as if ashamed of his own weakness. "The... ritual has proved more demanding than I anticipated. I am not certain I succeeded in..." Spock stares at the single drop of transparent liquid landing on the pale skin of his arm. Slowly, he lifts his eyes. "Jim, you are crying," he whispers, shocked.

"No shit," Kirk breathes out, turning away and wiping his eyes furiously. The look on Spock's face is tearing him to pieces. "I'm so sorry, Spock. I'm so sorry. I didn't know I was sending you to... to this. If I knew I would never have..."

"Captain—"

"Why didn't you tell me? You knew what they were gonna do to you — _why on earth did you go?_"

"My orders—"

"Screw orders! Spock, you nearly died!"

"That did not happen."

"And it makes it all right somehow?"

Spock's giving him a leveled look.

"My life would have been a small price to pay for—"

That does it. Kirk's hands are clutching at Spock's shoulders, and he's pulling the Vulcan closer, bringing their faces to point blank range.

"Your life is no price to pay for anything!" Kirk yells at him, beyond himself. "Spock, do you even have the first fucking idea of how precious your life is?!"

"It... does not have... any particular significance," Spock stutters, disoriented and confused. "As a hybrid I am... of no use in... repopulating... my species."

"Screw your species!" Kirk's now shaking him slightly. "Goddammit, Spock, do you even know how precious, how unique you are? I've never met anyone so smart, so brave, so fucking beautiful in my entire life! You're the best first officer any captain could want! I think they wouldn't hate me half as much at Starfleet Command if I didn't steal you from them! I would never have pulled through my first month as captain without you, never mind first year!"

"I am... pleased to have been of use to you," Spock says slowly, pulling away hesitantly. "Though I must point out that you are undoubtedly exaggerating."

Kirk groans, letting him go.

"It's not just me, Spock. There's a ship behind these doors full of people willing to beam down and rip throats for what those bastards did to you."

Spock lifts an eyebrow.

"Surely not."

"Dammit, Spock, wake up already!" Kirk grips the side of the bed in frustration. "I know you think humans can't hold a candle to Vulcans in anything, but we're not completely stupid. We fucking know a good thing when we see it. This crew _adores_ you! Don't give me that look – that look is exactly the reason why you don't know it and I do. Spock." Kirk takes Spock's hand in both his own gently, lifting it off the bed. "We like you and we love you. We might not always know how to make you see it, 'cause we're a bunch of messed up bastards one way or another. But we don't want to lose you."

Spock looks at him for a moment longer, and then an eyebrow crawls up again.

"We?"

Kirk grins. It's his most cocky, most seductive grin ever. It fades a little when he brings Spock's hand up and looks at it. The soft, transparent tissue that grows in the place of his torn out nails makes him dizzy with guilt and compassion all over again. So innocent. So fragile.

He brings Spock's hand all the way up to his lips and presses the softest of feather kisses against the knuckles. It's not a sexual gesture, it has nothing to do with it. It's a physical manifestation of that powerful feeling inside him, which he can no longer contain. Bones was right. He should have told Spock long ago.

Spock gasps. "Captain, what are you..."

"_I_ don't want to lose you," Kirk murmurs, planting the next kiss on Spock's fingertips. One finger at a time. "_I_ would be totally lost without you." Another kiss. "_I_ don't know how to make you believe me, Spock." Another kiss. "But I like you." He kisses Spock's thumb and looks up to meet Spock's astonished eyes. "And I love you."

"Jim," Spock manages hoarsely. "Jim, I..."

"Oh, please believe me, Spock," Kirk pleads shamelessly, all pride forgotten, his need to make Spock trust him outweighs everything. "There's nothing more important for me than to have you believe me. I'm in love with you. Madly. I've had a crush on you like forever, but this — this is so very different. I don't want to have sex with you, I want to make love to you. I want to be making love to you my whole life. I want to hold you and never let go till I fucking die. I want us to share a life the way partners do. I want us to – bond, the correct term is I believe?" he teases gently. "And if you don't want any of this, it's all right. As long as you live and breathe, as long as you're happy, that's more than enough for me."

Spock simply stares at him, speechless, and speaking of breathing, Kirk isn't sure he's doing it. He smiles at the Vulcan softly, suppressing his own nervousness brutally.

"Say something."

Spock swallows with difficulty.

"Jim, I... do not know if..."

"You don't believe me."

Spock's features crease for a moment, as if he's in pain.

"I want to believe you," he says quietly. "I am... ashamed of how much I want to believe. But this is... too much... Too..."

"Too good to be true?" Kirk finishes, hope stirring within him recklessly.

Spock nods gratefully. "Yes."

"So." Kirk gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "What do we do about it?"

Spock looks at him and then averts his eyes.

"I could not dare ask."

"Hey." Kirk's hand lifts Spock's chin up again. "You could ask me anything. No, actually, belay that. You could ask me anything, just don't ask me to leave you. Don't ask me to ignore your pain. Don't ask me not to love you. If you ever do, I'll just say, request denied."

Spock's stunned into immobility, and the sight is heart-wrenching and heartwarming. Kirk waits patiently. He's done all he could, now it's Spock's turn to jump off a cliff. The silence is killing him, and he starts to panic, almost seeing Spock pushing him away. Finally, just as he's on the verge of losing it completely, Spock makes a decision.

"Jim. Would you allow me to touch your mind?"

Kirk stiffens for a moment and then wants to laugh. Trust Spock to come up with a perfect solution that would never have occurred to Kirk. So simple. Uniquely designed for them. He nods happily.

"It's long been yours, Spock."

The meld is nothing like the one he experienced on Delta Vega. That one was a jungle of images and data, information and emotions of a lifetime compressed into a narrow data stream and pushed into his mind in a second. It was overwhelming, confusing, and disorienting. And it completely shielded the mind of the sender from him, allowing only the barest hints of contact.

This one is... He can't find words to describe it. He will never be able to find a definition for the infinite care with which Spock eases their two minds together. Spock's so unbelievably gentle, so slow, so wary of hurting him, so concerned and a little bit freaked out that it makes Kirk want to weep for him, like he hadn't ever done for anyone. Spock's treating him like he's a vessel made of precious crystal, fragile and very dear. This ultimate tenderness is excruciating, and Kirk gives him a little nudge, not really understanding how.

_Come on, Spock. I'm not gonna break._

He senses surprise and a tiny bolt of amusement. He suddenly feels himself bathed in sunlight.

_I do not believe you are sufficiently prepared for a more forceful penetration._

Is it possible to be stunned within his own mind? Outside the meld, the words might have been conventional Spock-speak, literal and ignorant of being a double entendre. But in the meld, Kirk feels Spock's mood as if it was his own.

_Did you just pull a sexual innuendo on me?_

_Indeed. Your mind is projecting images of this nature very... loudly. I find them most... fascinating._

Okay, now he's blushing in his own mind. What kind of meld is this anyway? Spock's floating around him, a calming, tantalizing presence at the periphery of his perception.

_Calm yourself, Jim. Let me in._

Ah, Spock. You ask so nicely.

The joking mood is gone, and he's suddenly filled with Spock's essence, so full he can't tell where he ends and Spock begins. It feels... incredible.

_It shouldn't be so pleasurable. Who thought that? Doesn't matter. He's overcome with sensations. Spock, let me hold you. Ah, so good. Joy. So pure. Is it always like this? I have never experienced this, not like this. Can you see how I feel? Can you feel me, like I... May I? Yes, oh... So... Jim, yes. Yes. We need to... We need to... God, this feels incredible! Didn't know it could be like this. Me neither. Laughter. We have to do something? You wanted... Who me? Baby blue eyes is an illogical expression. You do like my eyes. Sky color. Yours. Night. Fire. Burning. Arousing. Does everything have a sexual meaning to you? Only where you are concerned. Jim, I must..._

Kirk is suddenly back in the physical world, gasping for air, grabbing at the bed to stay standing. Spock, too, is breathing heavily, his hand falls limply to the bed, he's exhausted. But his eyes are alight and locked on Kirk's, and neither can look away.

"I apologize," Spock utters. "I had to break the meld. It was becoming more intense than... currently advisable."

"I'll say," Kirk snorts, feeling exactly what Spock means, but it's the pain he welcomes.

And then, because he so absolutely can't help himself, he catches Spock's face between his hands and kisses him. Spock gasps, and Kirk seizes the chance to part his lips and plunge into that enticingly hot mouth to lay the sweetest of assaults. He's so invested in his audacious exploration that he almost misses the moment when Spock starts to kiss him back. Kirk groans, feeling his stomach lurch like it was caught in a zero-g bubble. His control snaps. He starts to kiss Spock hard, digging his fingers deeper into the silky black hair, something he always wanted to do, and he can't get enough of this, of any of this, and it's a little frightening to know that he never will.

But even in the haze of his passion, he senses Spock's discomfort. Regretfully, he withdraws slowly, still yielding to the temptation of sucking on Spock's lower lip gently before letting go. His hands remain on Spock's neck, rubbing the pliant skin softly.

Spock's eyes are still closed, and the dreamy expression on his face is a killer. Kirk thinks it should be illegal, punishable by law, whatever. He can't resist and places a light, chaste kiss on those impossibly alluring lips. He pulls away, smiling warmly.

"Hey."

Spock opens his eyes slowly and looks at him. Blinks. His struggle to regain some focus is priceless; it's the most intoxicating sight Kirk has ever seen. He runs a finger along Spock's cheekbone soothingly, holding his breath.

"Do you believe me?"

Silence. But Spock holds his gaze. He doesn't look away and there's hope in that.

Even if it's not yet a reply.

* * *


End file.
